There is a version of my grief that no one ever sees.
There is the grief I can talk about the one that comes out in tears, in stories about my Mum in all the memories that feel safe enough to share and then there is the other kind. The kind I hide.
It’s the grief that shuts me down mid conversation, the one that makes me scroll my phone for hours just to avoid feeling and all the thoughts. The grief that leaves me snappy, withdrawn or quiet that can easily be mistaken for being “off“or distant. This version of me is not poetic or dramatic. It’s sharp, awkward and hard to explain.
It shows up on random Tuesdays. It ambushes me in the supermarket when I pass by something she loved or something I know she would have liked. It stings when someone says, “You seem better now,” and inside I want to scream, “I’m not.” Because part of me knows that I will never really feel “better.” How can I even?
Sometimes, the grief I hide is the heaviest. And loudest that I feel it 90% a day! It’s the one I carry alone, minute after minute, hour after hour. And maybe someone out there has that version too. The kind you keep tucked away so others feel more comfortable around you. If you do, please know you are not strange, not broken and of course not wrong. You are grieving and some parts of grief don’t need to be polished or pretty. They just need to be real.
This is for the ones carrying a silent grief. The kind that knocks you down but also whispers of beautiful memories you wish you could live again. Maybe I want to believe that let’s give ourselves some grace. Don’t rush the ache, even if it makes others uneasy.
Because grief is not just pain! It is love trying to find a place to rest and honoring that love, in all the messy and invisible ways it shows up in a form of celebration too.
Do it for you. Do it for the one you loved so deeply.
Do it in every way you possibly can grief.
TUHAME ❤️
